


Hapless Dreamers

by Danyu



Category: Gungrave
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danyu/pseuds/Danyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a short time, the lines between hapless dreaming and reality were allowed to blur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hapless Dreamers

He dreamed of a life so far different from his own it could be nothing more than a fantasy. And yet he reveled in it, this sweet release from reality, for his own world was full of bloodshed and betrayal, cold and lonely as the grave that waited for him the moment he failed in his mission.

He dreamed of a comfortable life, full of peace and love. He dreamed of a life when his world was free of violence, a world in which he could still hold respect for himself instead of contempt. In his dream, his hands were untainted, unmarred by the blood of men.

He dreamed of a life with his beloved Maria by his side, full of smiles and laughter by the day, warm and secure in his arms by night. He dreamed of loving touches and soft smiles, lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed and reluctant intrusion of Mondays that forced him away from her side. He dreamed of first homes and white picket fences, golden bands and wedding bells, his vows of love and her tears of joy, as she told him she carried his child.

He dreamed of a faceless stranger who caused such love inside him before his very birth, of doctor appointments and late night cravings, mood swings and a baby's gentle kick. He dreamed of first steps and first words, teddy bears and "Daddy I love you", birthday cakes and trips to the zoo.

He dreamed of growing old and gray without fear, his life as full of contentment and satisfaction as he looked upon the faces of his children and grandchildren with pride. They surrounded him, their faces dark and grim or slick with tears, and he told them not to fret, that he would watch over them and it was time to join his Maria once more, to find again the missing piece of his soul.

The world grew dark, and this paradise he expected drifted further and further away from his grasp, to become the slightest whisper of possibility that dwindled to wistful longing. And sorrow overtook him, for he knew now that this perfect world of his was only just a dream, and impossibility for his reality. But the void began to shift again, taking on color and shape to thrust him into his hapless existence…

He was trembling as he awoke.

His face was slick with tears, trailing unchecked over pale skin as more of their counterparts gathered in his eyes. His breath was ragged and uneven, his heart thundering in his chest as he willed his body to calm down.

Once his body began to calm down from the sudden shock of the dream, Brandon Heat released himself from the bed sheets tangled around his legs, as he raised himself into a sitting position and fought against the familiar pang of disappointment that came upon the discovery that he was alone.

It was a ridiculous feeling in reality, but he could never fully suppress the intense longing that came every time he allowed himself to think of it. To know that after years of being alone, it was still Maria he wanted at his side.

The room was dark and the heat was overwhelming in the summer season, filling the cramped apartment with a stale, stifling air. Brandon fumbled for the switch to the small lamp on the bedside table, the sudden illumination that dominated the room startling in his lethargic state. The light filled every inch of the room, banishing away the shadows that had lingered only moments before.

A sudden melancholy swept over him, overpowering in its dejection, a wistful wondering invading his mind that maybe, just maybe, there was a light out there that could banish the shadows inside him as well.

Brandon snorted softly, brushing aside the traitorous naiveté of the thoughts as he raised himself to his feet and crossed the room to his wardrobe. He had a light like that once, someone who made him feel hope, even if only for a short time. It was foolish of him, then and now, to rely on her to save him from the darkness.

He was so skilled an actor now; hiding everything behind a mask of complacency he adorned every day. It was his own choices that had led him down this road, impossible to take it back or change the past. He had given up everything, wanting to walk the path his best friend had chosen, not because their ambitions were the same, but only out of a wish to protect him.

It was ironic, really, to think that out of his wish to protect one person so important to him, he ended up losing another. Only, this other meant so much more, for Maria meant more to him than any soul ever could, even Harry. He had been selfish, victim to the confidence all young men were subject to, arrogant in his push to keep on seeing her, even when his devotion to Harry pulled him further and further into the dangerous world that lay beneath the face of Millennion.

Even to this day, he could not bring himself to fully let her go, as much as he distanced himself, as much as the want to protect her ingrained into every part of him, his love had grown too strong to fully turn away. That familiar longing in his heart, it pulled him back to her again and again.

Out of the corner of his eye, a hint of color caught his attention, sticking out vividly in the lackluster tones of dress shirts and dark suits that made his wardrobe. His mouth curving into a small, morose smile, outlined with bitterness, he reached out to brush his fingers to the faded brown leather of the vest, tucked away in the back of his closet. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, shrugging on the heavy black coat he had adopted along with the monkey suits. The casual gray slacks and matching sweater he had forced himself into would have to suffice, as much as his body itched for more casual clothing. He could not risk any of his associates seeing him on the streets out of character, after all.

Adorning the glasses was slightly easier, for they had their advantage, drawing attention away from his eyes. His eyes were traitorously expressive, and one look into them could betray any deception in his words and expression. Deception had become as necessary in his life as breathing. Even Harry, blinded by his own greed, never found the time nowadays to see the truth in his best friend's eyes.

Maria, he remembered with a small smile, had once told him his eyes were like the mirror to his soul. He was such a contradiction, in every way he could imagine. Who had ever heard of a hitman, a killer, with gentle eyes?

Brandon hated. He hated violence, hated guns, blood, the smell of gunpowder, the screams and cries of the women left behind after he killed their fathers and brothers. He hated the lies and deception, and yet he used them; he despised killers and traitors, and yet he was the one who pulled the trigger to end their lives.

Brandon Heat hated himself, and everything he stood for.

He scrubbed his fingers through his hair, irritated by its shortness but grateful for the clean feel of the thick locks to his touch, untainted by the oils he often used to slick it back to make himself look more like _them._ His hand froze above the door handle as he realized what he had forgotten, bitterly aware of the bile that rose in his throat as he fastened the strap across his chest, securing the handgun in the holster hidden in folds of his coat.

He hated himself even more for the destination firmly in his mind the moment he left the room, making his way onto the empty streets of the city. He loathed himself for the longing that welled up inside once more, desire painful in its intensity as it rivaled with his self-disgust.

Knowing that if he found the amber glow of a single candle lit in Maria's window, he would be safe to find some semblance of peace in her arms that night, did nothing to ease his ill feeling. Echoing, disjointed memories of that night's dream remained with him, fighting to widen the chasm inside that threatened to engulf his very soul.

The sight of the pallid illumination in a familiar French-style window did nothing to appease his guilt.

If he was less the obstinate, proud man he was, he could have wept at the look of understanding compassion in her blue-green eyes, the same breathtaking, serene hue of an ocean. Her slender arms slipped around him, and he allowed himself this indulgence, this salvation as he sank into her embrace, giving himself over to her.

"Maria…"

The gun, he set aside without a second thought; the clothes, he shed as easily and as effortlessly as his inhibitions as he let them fall away, casting them away to unknown destinations. Her hands reached for his and she raised them to his eye level, pressed palm-to-palm, and he reveled in the differences, the rugged, calloused expanse of his leathery skin compared to hers, and their fingers entwined tightly, enlacing in a simple but intimate gesture that warmed his heart.

He felt a rush of heady ecstasy as his lips collided with hers in an awkward but passionate kiss, rocking the very foundation of his world with the sheer power of the contact, and he surrendered so completely, his body and mind as much hers as his heart had always been. The guilt, the fear, the insecurities melted away at her touch, as her hands danced along his back, her touch light and fleeting as a butterfly landing upon his skin.

He trembled under her touch as her fingers and lips traced each scar, found his hands were shaking as he clumsily brought them to her shoulders, parting the folds of her silken robe, as he lifted the sheer material of her chemise out of his way and bared her body to his eager eyes.

And as he lifted her into his arms, both of them sinking into the bed and each other's embrace, he let himself go, let himself imagine what his life could have been, and let love heal him, if only for a short time.

Perhaps, for a short time, they could both let themselves be dreamers.


End file.
